


For A Bad Time

by WelpThisIsMyLifeNow



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Dom/sub, F/M, Favors are important in this universe, God save us all, Idiots to Idiots, If you like tropes and idiots then this is the fic for you, Mistaken Identity, Phone Sex, Red's a flirt and reader brushes it off as much as possible, Romance over the phone, This is one big long fic about voice kinks and I'm only slightly sorry, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Sans (Undertale), Voice Kink, and they were ROOMMATES, idiots to lovers, tropes upon tropes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:28:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28816350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WelpThisIsMyLifeNow/pseuds/WelpThisIsMyLifeNow
Summary: "For a bad time, call Red. xxx-xxx-xxxx"“what the fuck do ya people want?”Holy voice kink, Batman._______You, in the best idea the drunken gods could ever give you, decide to call a phone number on the bathroom stall of a bar.Unexpectedly, you earn a funny long-distance buddy with areallynice voice. Which is pretty great, considering your new skeletal roommate refuses to talk to you at all...________Idiots to lovers inbound.
Relationships: Sans (Undertale) & Reader, Sans (Undertale)/Reader, Sans (Undertale)/You
Comments: 90
Kudos: 410





	1. Call Red

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Modern Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23939803) by [MissWolfinger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissWolfinger/pseuds/MissWolfinger). 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Call for a bad time 💖

As much as you loved her, Undyne—the big, beautiful fish woman—was currently at the very _top_ of your shitlist.

Unintentionally, you performed a _spectacular_ Jack Sparrow impression as you staggered your way through the busy bar and into the closest lady’s room. As you teetered into the stall (your stomach threatening an intimate look at the towel bowl) you internally streamed every swearword you could think of in a silent curse at your dear warrior friend.

You had owed Undyne a _favor_.

She had saved you, once. You’d been buying a little morning pick-me-up for your coworker, a sweet little moldsmal (when you’d introduced yourself, they went _wigglewiggleWIGGLEwiggle,_ so you assumed that was their name). It was tough to tell with those particular monsters, but you were _pretty_ sure you were on friendly terms by this point; they wiggled pretty intensely whenever you stopped by, and your return wiggles back hadn’t seemed to insult them yet. 

In an attempt to solidify the friendship—or, perhaps, pacify them in case they were actually trying to _threaten_ wiggle at you—you had stopped by some famous monster bakery for a treat. Although you had _no_ idea what moldsmal might like, the… _slightly_ intimidating (but decidedly helpful) spider monster made some suggestions for you. You had a feeling she was pushing you to perhaps buy a _bit_ more than what moldsmal could actually… consume, but you didn’t mind; better to overdo than underdo a gift.

Unfortunately, some asshole didn’t agree. You hadn’t gotten four steps out of the shop when a hand came down, smacking your bag of goods out of your hand. A solid half of them fell out of the bag, forever lost to the bacteria of the city sidewalk.

Initially—despite the aggressive nature of the hand—your brain defaulted to thinking it must’ve been an accident. You looked up from your treats to the stranger, expecting some sort of apology-

But the look on the massive man’s face standing before you was definitely _not_ apologetic.

Before you could process it, he had his finger shoved in your face, and he was screaming something about monsters.

“-fucking _traitor,_ supporting non-human businesses, helping them take our jobs-”

You expect he had a long tirade rehearsed, one likely well practiced from unending rants on the internet. He, however, didn’t make it far—as a fist suddenly swung in, offering a concise rebuttal.

 _Undyne_. The famous head of the Royal Guard.

Prestigious, and instantly recognizable, and absolutely _kicking the shit_ out of this dude. She, at least, didn’t seem to have intent to kill him, or battle a fair fight between souls—there were no tell-tale signs of an encounter visible—but seemed very intent on causing him some purely _physical_ harm.

Your father, beloved and wise, had always preached non-violence and kindness. A student of his, you always endeavored to do the same.

… But you couldn’t say you were a particularly _good_ student. You let it go on for about another 10 seconds before calling out to stop her. 

He’d probably give you a C- for that one, but eh—close enough. 

“Hey! Uh, thank you,” you said hesitantly, making sure to stay out of the assumed lunging range of a fishwoman. She thankfully paused her assault—one hand gripping his shirt to keep him upright, the other primed for a punch—and turned to look back at you. “What a dickbag. Uh, is he… under arrest?”

“You’re GODDAMN right he is!” Undyne said, her fist abruptly finishing its swing to collide with his face. You were a bit worried she was going to continue—but instead, she dropped her hold and stood up off of him. “Fucking _PIECE OF SHIT_.”

“Oh, neat,” you said, watching him as he laid, thoroughly unmoving, on the concrete. “What’s the charge gonna be?”

“Assault, DUH!” she said, then spit on him. He didn’t flinch. You were… _reasonably_ certain he was still alive. “He _SMACKED_ your hand! That’s assault and battery! And property damage!”

She gestured to your dearly departed baked goods. You certainly weren’t going to argue with her.

“Cool, cool. Uh, thanks again! That was a rad takedown. I guess I’ll just get my things and go-”

“Not so fast, punk,” Undyne said. You _immediately_ froze, lest her fists be like agitated snakes, striking out at any kind of movement. Thankfully, her fists instead moved to her hips instead of throwing themselves in your direction. “Now’s time for PAPERWORK!”

_She seems very enthusiastic about it._

“I fucking HATE paperwork-” _Nevermind._ “-but we gotta do it. You and him and me are gonna go down to the station to file a report.” She walked back over to the guy, getting out handcuffs from her belt.

 _Shit_. 

“Uh, I’m sorry to ask, but is there any way we can do this later? I’m supposed to be going back to work now, and my boss is a bit of a hardass.”

Undyne checked her watch. The guy groaned pitifully as conscious came back to him—and, without so much as looking away from her watchface, she kicked him in the gut.

“I guess. What time do you get out of work?”

“ _Four_ ,” you said, your voice high and tight as you watched the man groan.

“Alright, alright. Here,” she said, taking out her card. “Come to the precinct in the capital after work and we’ll finish filing a report. It’s a bit after my shift ends, but it’ll be fine.”

Your brows furrowed, heart slightly touched as you accepted the card. “Aw, Undyne! You rock! You really don’t have to do that, though, I can just tell my boss-”

“Nah, no worries,” she shrugged, lifting the guy up and—once successfully handcuffed—tossing him over her shoulder as casually as a towel. She then turned to you, and winked.

“You just owe me a favor, punk.”

The blood drained from your face, not wanting to be any part of this.

“No, Undyne, wait-!”

She merely laughed, giving you a wave as she casually strolled away. You quickly looked at the time—and found you didn’t have enough to spare to give chase.

_Fuck._

Although the education around monsters was as piss-poor as… _most_ subjects they taught in public schools, you had a vague understanding of the hellish subscape that was the Underground. It was dangerous, and brutal— _kill or be killed_ the previous motto of their people—and, while it had been some time since their release, strong parts of their ways underground still remained among them.

Like, of course, _favors_.

In a world where little was sacred or safe—owing someone a _favor_ was a dangerous thing indeed. Although the favor was never expected to be _too_ outlandish (you couldn’t expect to ask anyone to kill themselves, for instance), you were _expected_ to hold up your end of the bargain. Often times, if you did, it came at great risk for yourself—such as hiding someone away, or doing a dangerous task. If you didn’t…

Well, in the world of kill or be killed, that kind of _weakness_ wasn’t tolerated. And—if you were deemed someone who rejected a favor—you certainly weren’t going to be able to depend on any _favors_ of your own to keep you alive. 

Of course, now (reasonably) free, the favors seemed to be significantly less intense—but _no one_ liked owing a favor to a monster—and monsters certainly didn’t like owing anyone else right back.

The rest of the work day had been plagued by the threat of that favor. Even watching moldsmal devour the remaining bagel, croissant, and donut that had been spared the sidewalk fate did little to distract you. By the time you were done with work and made your way to the precinct, you were _convinced_ she was going to ask you to try to assassinate the President. Well… that, or do her taxes. Both seemed equally impossible.

  
Stepping into the precinct, you could feel your core shaking; you were only barely able to eek out the words to ask for Undyne as you reached the front desk. This was the _head_ of the monster _guard_. You were fucked, you were _so fucking fucked-_

Adrenaline overtaking all other functions, you barely processed your walk through the busy precinct, weaving around criminals of all sorts without a second glance. You didn’t come back down to reality until you were _in front of Undyne in a private office oh goddamnit-_

“Heya, punk, good timing,” she said, closing a laptop and standing up. “We’re all good here GD, give us a sec alone.”

The police officer—an _extremely_ large dog monster—yipped obediently before leaving the room, closing the door behind him. You couldn’t help but likening the sound to a closing coffin in your mind.

”Alright, punk, let’s cut to it,” Undyne said casually, moving to the front of the desk before leaning on it. “The favor is, well...”

For a brief flash of a moment, she actually looked _shy,_ mouth curling into an embarrassed grin. She seemed to catch your bewildered stare, though, and instantly snapped out of it. Her look turned fierce, and you readied yourself-

_Please not the taxes, please not the taxes..._

”You’re gonna be my friend!”

For such a simple sentence, it felt as if it had cleaved the hemispheres of your mind in twain.

”Uh... _what?_ ”

“I know you’re not deaf, punk! What?! Do you think I’m not good up to the challenge of being friends with a human?! Well nuts to you, I already _am!_ And now WE’RE gonna be BESTIES-“

“Undyne,” you cut as loudly as you dared. “I guess I’m just confused, but, uh, I’m honored? Just... _why?_ ”

“ _HEY!”_ She hollered, and you cringed out of reflex. Noticing this, she seemed to draw back, folding her arms. “Who owes who the favor here? Is it a deal or not?”

Despite feeling that you were walking in some kind of elaborate, hijinky trap, the answer was clear:

”Deal.”

Friendship, to Undyne, unfortunately seemed to mean a _lot_ of exercising together—but when you began to repeatedly faceplant from exhaustion during your 10-mile runs, she had allowed you to switch to the _much_ more enjoyable anime bingewatching sessions. 

At first, you had wondered if this was some odd ploy to hit on you—but then you met her fiancée, and they seemed _very_ much in love, and very much monogamous. Undyne never would tell you why she asked for a favor, but over time...

You got the sense the monster was a bit lonely in life on the surface.

Despite her request to have a friend, it took quite some time for you to creep out of the awkward stage of acquaintances and into actual, sincere friendship. Oddly enough, it seemed to be only pushed _through_ the dreaded favors themselves. 

The first time Undyne had owed you one—after you brought her fiancée some important papers she’d forgotten—there had been a bit of a challenge there. When Undyne had asked you what you wanted in return, she said it could be _anything_ —even the erasure of a current favor.

She had clearly been giving you an out to be her friend, if you wanted it. Of course, you declined; instead, you asked her to buy you some coffee. From then on, the favors between you two were silly, inconsequential; you realized they were more like a constant gauge of how your friendship was going, a check in of trust. 

_I’ll help you out, and you won’t take advantage of me owing you. You don’t have to worry about me, and I won’t have to worry about you._

It was definitely an _odd_ way of building a friendship, but you grew to understand it more over time. Slowly, but surely, this powerhouse of a woman became one of your very dear friends.

That _may,_ however, end this very night; either by alcohol poisoning, or you cursing her out and her kicking your ass.

You had been the one to owe her a favor this time, and she had _insisted_ that you go out drinking and attempt to keep up with her. She didn’t even have a liver! How was _that_ supposed to be any kind of fair?

So now, here you were, currently painting the inside of a toilet bowl some colors that even Bob Ross couldn’t love. Normally you weren’t much of a puker, but apparently magical drinks were a bit harder for humans to digest—something about excess magic that the human body couldn’t handle well.

You certainly didn’t _feel_ magical, but by the time you had emptied out your stomach (as well as all of today’s meals, you assumed), you _did_ feel surprisingly better. Definitely still drunk as a skunk stuck in a barrel of fermented apples, but at least _slightly_ less worse for wear than you were a moment ago.

With all the elegance of a debutante, you wiped your mouth free of all remaining drool with some toilet paper and spit into the toilet, doing your best to rid your body of all evidence of your mistakes. Leaning against the stall’s wall, you took a long moment to breathe, waiting until your dizziness ceased to move.

Eventually, a sense of steadiness came back to you, your feet feeling securely grounded to the floor once more. Wanting to give yourself an extra minute to be _certain_ (no need ending up sideways on a bathroom floor, after all), you let your eyes lazily scan your surroundings.

The place was a bit of a dive bar, and—as somewhat expected—the stall was _full_ of various scribbles, drawings, and odd, forgotten conversations between strangers. You’d been to this bar once before with Undyne—it was apparently one of her favorites—and had remembered to bring a marker of your own this time. _Might as well do my part to add to the decorations._

Now you weren’t sure if you _could_ write anything; your limbs were utterly deadened under the weight of excess magic, alcohol, and the traumatic upchuck you’d just been through. So, instead, you let yourself look over the walls, appreciating the odd, contextless details of people’s lives displayed here-

-and then, randomly, one caught your eye.

“ _For a bad time, call Red_

_xxx-xxx-xxxxx”_

Snorting out loud, you rolled your eyes at the Scribble. _Seriously? People are still writing numbers on bathroom walls? God, the poor sap._

Drunken wheel of your head churning, you wondered if you should cross it out. _But if they actually wanted it there? Who am I to cramp someone’s pick up style?_

It was quite the conundrum, one that booze was giving you no favors for. You narrowed your eyes at the message—as if you could intimidate it into an answer—before the god of inebriated ideas bestowed a _glorious_ thought:

_Wait, I should just call them and ask! Perfect!_

You pulled out your phone, internally patting yourself on the back. _What a good idea. That way I’ll know for sure!_

You dialed in the numbers, and—without any kind of hesitation—hit the call button.

The phone rang, and rang, and rang. Just when you thought it would be going to voicemail—and just, perhaps, the thought of _this might be a bad idea, that might be for the best they don’t answer_ started to creep into your mind—you heard the background, static hum of the line going live.

“‘lo?” The sound was slightly cut off, staticy—you slightly adjusted your position in hopes of a better signal.

“Hey!” you greeted. You recognized the slight slur in your voice, so you put 100% of your concentration into sounding decently sober. “Is this Red?” 

Unexpectedly, you heard a _snarl,_ and then:

“what the _fuck_ do ya people want?”

_Holy voice kink, Batman._

God, _that_ was the last thing you expected. Your enthusiasm for this call instantly waned. “Hey, sorry, didn’t think you’d answer-”

The person on the other end sighed, and you moderately wondered if you should just hang up. 

“where th’ _fuck_ do people keep gettin’ my number from?”

Your vision swung to the stall’s wall, as if making _sure_ it hadn’t run away since you started the call. “It’s, uh, on a bathroom stall in the girl’s bathroom at this bar.”

“fuckin’ _damn_ it, a guy can’t get any fuckin’ peace-”

 _Man, this dude swears like a sailor._ “Calm down, Mr. Sexy voice,” you said, reaching into your jacket pocket and grabbing your marker. “Lucky for you, I came prepared.”

The voice at the other end was silent for a beat, then:

“so ya like my voice, huh?” The notes were lowered, scratching gravel as they were curled with an enticing note. 

_Ohhhhhh no, haha, I’m in danger._

“I mean, maybe?” you asked, _decidedly_ glad he couldn’t see your face—though the way your voice tightened, he probably didn’t need to. You cleared your throat as you uncapped the marker. “I’ve got a marker, I’m gonna cover up your number, alright?”

“ya got a pretty sweet voice yerself, kitten,” he purred. Face turning up several notches, you forced yourself to not pay attention to the way your stomach was pleasantly flipping.

“Listen, buddy, do you want your number crossed off or not?”

“alright, alright—i guess it’s better than gettin’ a whole new phone. but, shit, wait, before ya do—what exactly ya expectin’ in return?”

You blinked. “In return?”

“don’t act like ya fuckin’ ain’t gonna ask fer a favor back. so what the hell’s it gonna be?”

_A favor. Oh._

Empathy panging around in your chest, you felt for this dude—either he was a monster who’d likely been through some dark shit, or a human who’d probably found themselves on the bad end of owing a favor.

Thinking back to how anxious you’d been that first day you’d owed Undyne, the answer sprung instantly forth into your mouth.

“A friend.”

There was silence on the other end of the line for a beat, then:

“th’ fuck ya mean, a _friend?_ ”

“I want you to be my friend. No other obligations or anything as my friend, just be a pal and chat with me.”

Another silence fell, as if he was expecting you to say more, or that you were joking. After a beat, you prompted him.

“Well? Is it a deal?”

“seriously, ya want me as a friend? i’m a fuckin’ stranger. what kinda shit is that?”

“It’s what I want. Deal with it.”

“nothin else?”

“Nope.”

He seemed to consider this for a beat, then you heard a laugh, edged with a breath of disbelief. “all-fuckin-right. i’m holdin ya to that, drunk or not”.

“Excellent!” you grinned. You were _slightly_ embarrassed that he could tell you were drunk, but decided to push past it. Drunkard of your word, you opened up your camera and took a picture of it, then thoroughly scribbled the text out with your marker. Finally, you took a second pic—proof of your before-and-after.

“All set, mister growly,” you said, yawning. Vaguely aware that you were starting to hit the coma stage of drunk, you decided to wrap things up. “I’ll send you a picture to prove I did it tomorrow when I’m not so intoxicated. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”

“it certainly has, kitten,” he said, a tilt to his voice that was _all_ entendre. When you snorted out a laugh— _probably_ not the reaction he was looking for—he continued. “thanks fer the favor.”

“Sure thing. Just make sure you text me back tomorrow, or I’ll come find you in person and kick your ass.”

“lookin’ forward to it. wait—before ya go, though, what’s yer name?”

You hesitated. The sole bit of sense in your brain, muffled under several layers of booze, attempted to call out that it _might_ not be the best idea to give a stranger your name. Not wanting to lie to him, you decided on an alternate route:

“Why, it’s _Kitten_ , of course.”

A deep, rumbling laugh came from the other side—and, god, _that_ incited a blush far brighter than any of his flirts had.

“a‘ course. well, on that note, bye, _kitten_.”

“Bye, _Red_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all!  
> I hope you like this, and please let me know in the comments below if you do! This fic has been pounding its way into my head for a while. It's also the first explicit fic I've written in quite some time, so... let's hope it's up to snuff!
> 
> Prepare for silliness, questionable life choices, and a lot of flirting from our favorite edgelord. I don't plan for this to be a very long fic, so if you like it, let me know and I'll continue our little story here!


	2. Become Friendish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How does one people correctly? Tune in at 8 to not find out the answer, because the reader has no idea.

The next morning, you were pretty sure you were dead. You were pretty sure your _ancestors_ were dead—wait, no, that made no sense. You were pretty sure your ancestors were drunk, and _you_ were the dead one. Yeah.

Despite not being _entirely_ sure how you got home, your slightly bruised ribs told you Undyne had likely over-the-shoulder delivered your drunken ass back home like a fireman attempting to save Christmas with a sack full of toys. Knowing her, she had probably _jogged_ back even while drunk, and had probably only dropped you a _couple_ times. Maybe.

Rolling over, you grabbed at the phone—turning, momentarily, into a bat as you shrieked at the light on the screen. The forefront of your brain was throbbing in protest as you brought up the number from last night.

As drunk as you’d been—and as much as you were hurting now—you couldn’t avoid a promise.

You quickly attached the pictures without any fanfare, sending them his way before dropping your phone back down. Blissfully, it was the weekend—so you were able to allow yourself to be dragged back into sleep, letting your unconscious body deal with processing the leftover poison in your gut.

The second rising of your day came far more easily than your first; although you _still_ welcomed an early death, it was much more in the standard millennial _I’m drowning in student loan debt_ than for hangover pain. And—true to that same millennial behavior to which you belonged—you immediately picked back up your phone. 

**xxx-xxx-xxxx** : _glad to see you held up your end of the bargain._

 **xxx-xxx-xxxx:** _now what?_

It seems like he had replied shortly after you texted—and it was now quite some time later. You took a moment to rub your eyes, trying to slit your brain cells back into place.

_Right. Yeah. Friends._

_…How_ **_do_ ** _you become friends with someone? The last friend I made was under coercion._

You looked back at your phone, the screen patiently darkened in sleep. 

_I guess I’m doing the same. But it’s… different over the phone; I can’t exactly force him to go for a death marathon like Undyne did. Plus, I don’t even really know anything about him…_

With a tap, you roused your phone back awake, and began to type out a message. _I guess it’s time to do just that; we’ll take this slow, just to be safe. If not, I suppose I could always just call it off._

 **You:** _Well, since we can’t exactly sit around braiding each other’s hair..._

 **You:** _Tell me about you. What do you like to do?_

The reply was almost instant.

 **Red:** _i wouldnt mind doin you ;)_

You stared at the message. Last night, when he’d been flirting, you found it amusing. But now, in daylight and with a much sober mind…

_Shit, did I accidentally let a creep into my life?_

For a moment, you considered already calling this off—the fringes of past asshole stalkers curling around your fingers, urging you to simply push the _block_ button. Fighting against it, you decided to simply wait and see. The option was always there, after all.

 **You:** _Uh huh._

 **You:** _Let’s try that again: what do you do in your spare time?_

 **Red:** _youre a fiesty kitten, huh? gotcha_

 **Red:** _i mostly just dick around with video games, i guess. play a bit of music too. hbu?_

Biting your lip, your head gave a slight wobble as if physically weighing the response in your mind. 

_Alright, at least he’s not really hounding on it. I guess I don’t mind a bit of flirty humor—as long as he doesn’t push it too far, anyway. It’s a fine line to walk between joking and harassment._

**You:** _Same for the video games! What do you like to play?_

 **You:** _I can’t say I play music, but I certainly love listening to it and going to concerts and all. What’s your instrument of choice?_

You waited a few minutes for a reply—but nothing. 

Not one to dwell on a lack of answer—you often got busy or forgot to reply yourself—you decided to get your day started.

Forcing yourself out of bed, you stumbled out on heavy legs downstairs and to the kitchen, phone in hand. After making some coffee and drinking about half your weight in water, you went to the task of making food.

Checking your cabinets, you grimaced at the selection in front of you.

_Hm, either ramen or PB &J on the menu tonight, as per usual. What’ll it be…? _

Deciding that—in lieu of any kind of vegetable or fruit—jam was _kind of_ close to a serving of fruit—you decided on the PB&J ( _gotta protect against scurvy, and all that)._ After slapping together your meal of kings, you settled down on the couch—fully prepared for a day of vegging out and slowly recuperating.

You made it about half way through your sandwich before your body revolted, sending a silent plea along a wave of nausea of _please, not again, no more of this._ With a sigh, you left it half-finished on the couch, too lazy to cross the barren wasteland that was your living room and toss it for the moment.

Not too long after—only a half hour into some Mettaton special about a lover being cast into a dungeon—you felt your phone vibrate the cushion next to you. To your surprise, it wasn’t Red.

 **Fish Waifu:** _Hey, punk_

 _Undyne—she’s probably checking to make sure I’m alive._ She normally didn’t follow up the morning after one of your forced benders—but last night had been _especially_ rough. 

**Fish Waifu:** _I need to ask you for something big_

 _Alright, nevermind. Fuck—please don’t tell me it’s another night of drinking, I think I might_ **_actually_ ** _die if I try that again._

Before you could respond, as if trying to up your anxiety _more_ , your phone began to ring—Undyne was _calling_ you.

_Well, that’s unusual; Undyne’s always been more of a knock-on-your-door-at-3am-rather-than-pick-up-the-goddamn-phone-and-call person. Must be serious._

With great trepidation, you answered the phone. 

“Uh, heya-” you began, but the sound of _sirens_ cut off your greeting. _What the fuck?_

“ _FUCK!_ Listen, I gotta talk fast-” Undyne began, her already pronounced voice _yelling_ over the noise in the background. “You have a spare bedroom, right?”

You held the phone away from your ear— _no, it’s fine, I didn’t need eardrums—_ before angling the end of the phone with the microphone towards your mouth. “Yeah! Why? Are you alright?”

“I’m uh-” you heard a massive crash behind you “just _fine,_ thanks. But I need to ask a favor. Is there _any_ chance a friend of mine could move in, like, _today?”_

_Excuse me, dafuq?_

“Undyne, what’s-”

“I… _may_ have had a _tiny_ accident at his home. I only have one spare, and I’m pretty sure he and his brother would destroy _my_ place if they had to live together, and then we’d _all_ be homeless. But, listen, I’m kinda desperate here—he’ll pay rent, and won’t give you any trouble. It’d just be for a few months-“

You looked at your leftover sandwich, currently glaring at you from the couch.

_Ding ding ding!_

“ _Yes_ ,” you eagerly agreed. _God, a way to pad my bills. Maybe I can_ **_finally_ ** _eat something other than PB &J for once. _

“Wait, shit, before you agree—while he won’t give you any trouble, he’s a pretty ornery guy. He _hates_ owing anyone—especially a human—any kind of favor, so he probably won’t say more than two words to you the entire time. He’s definitely not going to look to be your friend-”

“That’s _perfect_ ,” you cut in—partially sincerely, partially in desperation to save your meal ticket. “I like my space when I’m at home. It’s a win-win.”

“HEY! That works out then, HELL yeah punk-!” A much _louder_ crash interrupted her celebration, and you winced in response. “SHIT! _Alright text you the details gotta go bye.”_

With that, the call ended. You stared at your phone, blinking at the screen.

_Well… That just happened. Time to Mary Poppins the hell out of this place and get shit cleaned up before he gets here._

Despite your body’s keening wail to stay in place, you hoisted yourself off the couch and began to clean as fast as you could. First, of course, came the ceremonial dumping of the PB&J.

“See you fucker,” you saluted as you tossed it into the trash. “You kept me alive, but I hope to never put you in my mouth again.”

_Hm. I could say the same about my exes._

Surprised at your own thought, you stared at the trash can blankly. _Maybe it’s for the best Red hasn’t texted me back yet. I think he’s affecting my humor._

The next few hours were spent making a mad dash through your house, hauling out ( _or, really hiding_ ) every last bit of junk you could find. You had been mostly using the spare room as a storeroom of sorts—and subsequently had to haul all of the boxes you’d never bothered to unpack down to the basement. Streaming an alphabetic string of curses in your head at your past self, you were an utter _disaster_ by the time you were done. But, of course, no time to shower—still have to do the dishes, and sort out the bathroom, and-

_And there was a knock on your door fuck no fuck-_

You took a beat to lament your fate, doing your best to smooth your hair and _not_ look like you were currently melting as you walked to the door.

Used to the typical song-and-dance, you barely jiggled the handle open before taking a wide step back. As expected, Undyne kicked the door wide open.

She had paid for several replacement doors. You had little to wonder what kind of “ _accident”_ had happened.

“C’MERE PUNK!”

This, too, you expected—and had long since learned not to fight it, merely submitting to her noogies, abandoning all hope for any sense of decency.

“Hi, Undyne,” you heaved. When she finally released you from her iron, fishy grip, you looked up at her—and, hell, she looked _worse_ than you did. Covered in soot and hair singed, she looked as if someone had tried to turn into a giant fishstick via a toaster.

“What _happened?_ ”

She waved you off, sharp teeth forming into something like an embarrassed smile—if that was even an emotion Undyne felt. “Don’t worry about it! Anyway, oh _look,_ here’s Sans.”

She moved aside, and indeed, someone was walking up to your door with a large box in hand.

You… weren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t a large, portly, mean-looking skeleton. Similar to many monsters, he had incredibly _sharp_ looking teeth—including one gold tooth. His boney fingers looked almost _claw_ -like, and his sockets—set in something akin to a weary glare—had two red pupil… light _… things_ in the center that were zeroed in on you. You weren’t _certain_ , but judging by that expression, he was _not_ happy to be here. 

_Please don’t tell me he has laser beam eyes. I mean, it’d be a cool way to die, but still…_

You waved at him, feeling somewhat shy under the force of that scowl. He merely nodded to you in return—which wasn’t death, and at least was something _close_ to friendly. Good enough.

Undyne clapped Sans on the shoulder. His frown only deepened. “C’mon, assh—er, _buddy_. I know where the room is. You’re gonna love it here!”

He and Undyne brushed past you, the skeleton not so much as casting you a side glance as he carried his box into his room. Oddly enough, as he passed, you had the vague feeling you’d seen him before—but were unable to place the face. 

_Hm. You’d think I’d remember a face like that, but guess not._

Taking advantage of the moment alone, you scurried to finish the most basic of cleaning essentials as Undyne led Sans upstairs. Saving your hair—especially after a thorough noogie-ing by Undyne—was a lost cause, so you focused on at least preserving _some_ semblance of order in your life.

Once you deemed the place to meet the _politely clean_ mark, you took a beat to pull out your phone. You had some notifications from a few friends—but, notably, none from Red. You saw a few from Undyne you’d obviously missed.

 **Fish Waifu:** _Hey, sorry, he’s gonna be in an especially bad mood when he gets here. He’ll soften up eventually._

 **Fish Waifu:** _His name is Sans._

 **Fish Waifu:** _We’re gonna be there in 5_

 **Fish Waifu:** _Here now gonna kick down your door if you don’t answer in two minutes_

Those had clearly been sent before they arrived—but it seemed she had sent another just a couple minutes ago.

 **Fish Waifu:** _You have that nerd messaging system that Alphys does, right?_

Your brow furrowed, and then relaxed as it clicked. _Right_.

 **You:** _Disharmony, the chat for video games?_

A bit unexpectedly, your phone buzzed right back.

 **Fish Waifu:** _Yeah, that nerdy shit._

 **Fish Waifu:** _He said to use that if you need to contact him._

 **Fish Waifu:** _Nothing personal—he doesn’t give his number out to anyone anymore._

Although you were slightly confused, you shrugged it off. _Whatever floats his boat, I suppose._

 **You:** _Yeah. Let me give you my details to give to him._

Flicking over to your Disharmony app, you copied the username, then pasted it to your message with Undyne.

 **You** : _MomsSpaghetti#8322_

 **Fish Waifu:** _…_

 **Fish Waifu:** _Are you two nerds punking me right now?_

 **You:** _????_

 **Fish Waifu:** _His is_

 **Fish Waifu:** _AntiPasta#1274_

You stared, then gut-laughed aloud.

 **Fish Waifu:** _why do you nerds BOTH have pasta usernames?_

 **You:** _An impastable coincidence_ 😉

 **Fish Waifu: 😑** _You two nerds might get along better than I thought_

You tittered to yourself, tapping back over to your app to add him. Just as you hit send, you got another message notification from Undyne.

 **Fish Waifu:** _Sorry about the yelling. Like I said, an especially bad mood today._

Your head craned up, looking at the ceiling. There was nothing.

 **You:** _You played yourself, because I didn’t hear anything. This place used to belong to a musician, so the sound padding is pretty great._

 **Fish Waifu:** _Excellent! So the next time you let me be your wingwoman, there’ll be no excuses not to take someone home_

Your face flushed, and you glared at your phone.

 **You:** _No! Bad fishwife._

Undyne merely sent you a cackling gif in response—to which you replied with a swift shutting off of your screen.

 _Finally_ taking a moment to put yourself in some semblance of order in the downstairs bathroom, you felt a bit more confident that you wouldn’t make a bad second first impression—well, with your looks, at least.

Once done, you made your way through the living room, moving to go upstairs—but then heard the distinct stampede of Undyne approaching. Automatically, you backed down and took a step to the side of the landing—and, not a moment later, Undyne stuck a 10-point landing at the bottom.

“NAILED IT!” she yelled. As the final step of that automated process, you held out your hand—and she was already smacking down, nearly relocating your hand from your wrist and through the floorboard in the process. 

“ _Yup_ , _great job,_ ” you squeaked, attempting to hide the tears in your eyes. Tears would just mean _more training._

“Alright, well, Sans has it handled—I think it’s best for now I give him some time to _GET THE STICK OUT OF HIS ASS!”_

Undyne paused, waiting for a response—and then her brows raised when none came.

“Huh. Guess they really are decently soundproof. Good to know if you’re gonna do some kinky shit.”

“ _Undyne it was lovely seeing you goodbye.”_

Undyne gave a playfully jeering “FUHUHU” before you exchanged your goodbyes—the fish woman encouraging you to let her know if he was being _too_ grumpy. You sincerely doubted you ever would—you doubted he’d do anything that would deserve the beating of his life—but kept it in mind _just_ in case.

Carefully—soundproofing or not, you weren’t taking any chances—you made your way upstairs. The guest bedroom was just across from the second floor landing—then the bathroom, and then your room. It wouldn’t be odd for you to just… casually stop by on the way to your room and say a proper welcome, right?

You stared at the door. It seemed… much more intimidating than you’d ever remembered it, especially when thinking of that red-eyelight stare…

_Mmm. Perhaps not._

Skittering off to your bedroom, you pulled out your phone, navigating back into the Disharmony app. He hadn’t accepted your request yet—but, luckily he didn’t have to for you to send him a message.

 **MomsSpaghetti:** _Hey there roomie!_

 **MomsSpaghetti:** _Just wanted to greet you properly._

 **MomsSpaghetti:** _Undyne mentioned you might not like owing anyone a favor-_

 **MomsSpaghetti:** _But I wanted to say you don’t owe me anything for this_

 **MomsSpaghetti:** _(other than the rent of course)_

 **MomsSpaghetti:** _You’re helping me out just as much, so consider us even. No favors._

You didn’t expect a reply—figuring he was likely busy unpacking—but your phone vibrated in your hand quickly after.

 **Antipasta:** _alright_

_Well… he’s concise, at least._

More than satisfied, your smile widened as you stared at your phone, collapsing onto your bed. _Normal food, here I come._

You spent the rest of the day—into the evening—doing a thorough cleanout of the place. In celebration of your new allowance, you decided to order a pizza—plus, you figured Sans probably wouldn’t want to cook after moving. A little pizza bribe never hurt, after all.

You messaged him, but he never responded. You decided to leave some out, _just_ in case he changed his mind. With stomach full of trash food and overall life anxiety a _bit_ lessened, you laid back in bed _extra_ early, ready to fall into a deep and welcome sleep-

And then, of course, your phone buzzed, snapping you out of your greasy bliss. Blearily, you picked up your phone from it’s seat of honor on your bedside table, and looked at the screen. 

**Red** : _sorry, was dealing with somethin_

Frowning at the screen, you attempted to decipher the tone. _A bit too early to know if that’s a serious topic or not—but, maybe since it’s not a flirt for once… he’s not in the best spirit?_

Figuring there was no harm in asking, you decided to dive in.

 **You** : _Oof. Wanna talk about it?_

The reply was delayed about a minute—almost enough for you to start dozing again, but not quite.

 **Red:** _not really_

 **Red** : _nothin personal_

 **Red** : _just rather not get into it_

Though the response was a _little_ disheartening, you tried to take him at his word and not put too much personal stock into the declination. _That’s fair, I suppose. I’m not gonna push him._

An idea sparking—maybe not the wisest, but wisdom was for fools—you decided to try a route he seemed to like to cheer him up instead.

 **You:** _Lemme guess_

 **You:** _You rather be getting into me?_

Red was having a _shittastic_ day.

_this shit always happens—i can’t get two fuckin’ seconds of peace even while bein’ on the surface. it wasn’t enough i had to put up with all that shit down there; i can’t get any fuckin’ time to make sure it doesn’t happen again..._

The dark circle of thoughts were leading him down, dragging him into one of those aggravating fucking moods that he could never seem to shake. He didn’t want to think about this shit, he didn’t want to _think_ -

He felt his phone buzz in his hand, and his free one rubbed at his face. _and on top of it, owin’ two favors in two days—well, at least that second human called it off. dumb mistake, but not my problem. as for the first one… i just hope this doesn’t turn into annoyin’ bullshit—i already got my bro harping at me enough._

Heaving a sigh—knowing he was obligated to not ignore it—he looked at your message-

And then he _burst_ out laughing. 

It wasn’t much—it likely wouldn’t be able to stave off his foul mood for more than a small flash of time—but, however little the reprieve, he… actually appreciated it. _Just_ a bit. Amused grin on his face, he typed out a reply.

 **Red:** _you know it, kitten ;)_

You smiled at your phone, wiggling slightly into the mattress as a small spark of electric happiness ran through you. You doubted the joke did much—but you couldn’t deny the curl of satisfaction at being able to help out a pal, however little.

_I’ll still have to watch out for any skeeviness, but… it doesn’t feel like Red’s trying to be a creep. I think this is just his type of humor. I’m really glad._

**You:** _Well, don’t think you’re getting off easy_

 **You:** _And yes, I mean that in every sense of the word_

 **Red:** _:(_

 **You:** _You get a pass on this one, big boy, but as your friend I’m declaring you have to open up to me sometime_

 **You:** _Not necessarily soon, just, y’know, one day_

 **Red:** _maybe if ya open up those legs to me first ;)_

You gut-laughed aloud, ready to chide him—when you felt your phone vibrate in your hands again.

 **Red:** _but i_ _guess talkings part of the friendship deal_

 **Red:** _sometime, just not now, alright?_

 **You:** _Looking forward to it_ 💖

You yawned, sleep attempting to reclaim your mind now that your little slice of world seemed to be more at peace again. Phone buzzing once more, you pushed through the drowsy haze to open your eyes. 

**Red:** _speaking of talking_

You narrowed your eyes, suspecting that had been a pun—despite your earlier pun to Undyne, you were more using it to annoy than an appreciator of the craft. But you’d let it go for now.

 **Red:** _can i call ya?_

 **Red:** _think itd be a good way to get friendlier ;)_

Frontal lobe already asleep—your brain was now free to, perhaps, make some poor decisions in your word choices.

 **You:** _Only over text_

 **You:** _Your voice is dangerous_

 **Red:** _awww, c’mon, no danger in hearin a guy speak_

Perhaps, if you hadn’t been _quite_ so filled with sleep-inducing pizza, your free-reign brain might have taken him up on his offer—but instead, you left the message unanswered, falling into a cozy, warm sleep.

_New friend, new roommate, less stress—it’s been a good day._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! 
> 
> I realized I had no idea about how to handle the texting thing (because Brain Empty Mom Spaghetti), so bless [MissWolfinger's amazing fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23939803/chapters/57571432) for inspiring (and for Wolfy giving me permission to borrow) the solution to that. It's one of my all-time favorite fics--so funny, and such a wonderful spirit (not to mention how well written it is!). You should absolutely check it out!!! Also a shoutout to xXSystemGlitchXx (who ALSO has amazing stories) for the inspiration of calling Undyne fish wife via their bookmark. Y’all are wonderful 🥰
> 
> Thank you all for your amazing response, because... holy shit, I came back to check this the next day and just.... 
> 
> Truly, thank yall. And a special shiny shoutout to all who commented, because that means so much for yall to take time out of your day to do so. You're all the very best, like no one ever was <3


	3. Navigate Public

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You enjoy your Sunday with your new pain in the ass.

The next day was a much more pleasant awakening—instead of cursing whatever fish had the balls to walk on land for the first time, consciousness came much more gently to you, your body whispering thanks for not poisoning it two nights in a row.

As per usual, you immediately looked at your phone—first, cringing at the fact it was only 6:30 AM, then scrolling through the notifications. You had some from various friends and media—but found your eyes being drawn to the ones from Red first, just _barely_ eeking victory over a message that a new letsplay you were waiting for was posted.

 **Red:** _:(_

 **Red:** _wait… are you asleep right now?_

 **Red:** _hopefully this doesn’t wake ya, but to answer your questions_

 **Red:** _i play guitar. mainly metal, alternative, that kind of shit_

 **Red:** _all kinda games. mostly fps and survival_

Shaking your head, you breathed out a laugh, typing back your reply.

 **You:** _So what you’re saying is you’re basic_

 **You:** _(jk please don’t murder me)_

 **You:** _But I like rock music too! Maybe not as much metal, but similar. Can’t play any instruments though._

 **You** : _ & yeah, KO’d sorry. _

**You:** _You never have to worry about waking me up; my notifications shut off at a certain time (unless you try calling me multiple times in a row)_

 **You:** _…And if you do, you better be dying, or I’ll find you and kill you_

 **You:** _(no jk)_

Death threat of the morning complete, you got up and started your routine. Not bothering to check your phone again until waiting for your eggs to cook—figuring Red would still be passed out like any decent person at this hour on a Sunday—you realized he’d actually responded.

 **Red:** _nah, no murder_

 **Red:** _ill try a lot of things in the bedroom but that aint one_

 **Red** : _ & sounds like we need to forge your metal appreciation ;)_

Narrowing your eyes at the phone, a deep suspicion told you that was likely a pun—but it was so weak, you weren’t _sure_. The arrival of another text distracted you from analyzing further.

 **Red** : _what about games?_

 **Red:** _id love for ya to teach me whats not basic, ms queen of cool_

 **Red** _: also ya fell asleep that early? ya sounded younger than 100 to me on the phone_

Though he could not see it (with dear apologies to the FBI agent watching your phone), you stuck your tongue out at the screen. 

**You:** _Don’t worry, as your friend I’ll be sure to improve your music and video game taste._

 **You:** _We’ll have to play sometime so I can beat your behind in some multiplayer games_

 **You:** _And I’m 110, actually, thank you very much_

 **You:** _Guess that means no more flirting with this old lady, huh?_

Realizing your eggs were getting _slightly_ over cooked, you put your phone down and tended to your breakfast. _Maybe I should go to the grocery store—eggs I don’t mind having over and over again as much, but it’d be nice to change it up. I do hate going on a Sunday when it’s so busy, though…_

Making no firm decision, you decided to simply enjoy your breakfast without worrying about the hellride that was navigating the general public in a consumer setting. Plopping yourself down on the couch, you went about your typical Sunday practice of fulfilling your childhood dreams—vegging out and watching cartoons without interruption. 

Once stuffed both with cartoons and your meal (taking care to immediately wash your plate—not wanting to upset the roomie on the first day), you headed back upstairs to get dressed. On your way up, you spied several more Red-texts.

 **Red:** _trust me kitten, if anyones gonna be beating behinds here itll be me beating yours_

 **Red:** _but dont worry, only when ya beg me to ;)_

 **Red:** _ & oh, id definitely like to take ya up on a tasting sometime. _

You deadpanned at your phone. _This man is insufferable._ When your phone buzzed again, you _almost_ didn’t look at it, but like a suicidal cat, curiosity got the better of you. 

**Red:** _n dont worry about the age, kitten_

 **Red:** _im sure youre a gilf_

A brow quirked as you stared at your phone. _A gilf? I know what a milf is, but-_

 _Wait… is that a “_ ** _grandma_ ** _I’d like to..?”_

 **You:** _Well, Red, it was nice talking with you_

 **You:** _Excuse me while I alert every senior center to not let you inside_

 **Red:** _want me all to yourself, huh? ;)_

 **You:** _I hate so much about the things you choose to be_

Glad he couldn’t see your amused laughter, you tossed your phone on the bed and began to change, pulling out some casual jeans and a tee. Just as you were about to do the pants dance, though, you paused as you caught your reflection in the floor-length mirror.

_Hm. I wonder if Red would be actually into me? Would he still flirt after finding out what I look like?_

You twisted your body this way and that—but, of course, your mirror held no answers. Sighing the lament of those trapped in a fleshy prison, you tugged your clothes on.

_I guess it doesn’t really matter, just being friends and all. I bet he would flirt anyway—since he seems to just do it for fun—but I wonder still…_

Making your way downstairs, you slipped your phone into your pocket, grabbing your jacket (with a quick check to make sure you had your headphones and keys) before going out the door. In the small driveway sat your little gremlin of a fine automobile, lovingly named Motherfucker ( _The Third_ ). Slipping into the front seat, you turned the key and listened to the dulcet screech of life as you roused your car awake.

“I know, I know baby,” you comforted, “I hate doing things too. It’ll be a quick suffering, I promise.”

As you guided your car (fueled purely on gas fumes, rage for the existence of life itself, and the spite of all other drivers nearby), to the store, you could feel your anxiety slowly mounting. Ignoring the petulant _I don’t wanna!_ internal chant, you forced yourself to take deep, even breaths as you willed your car into the parking lot of your local shopping center.

As expected, the desert-sized parking lot was just about full, with drivers hunting down parking spots like they were trying to find the one with winning lotto numbers. You finally got one _way_ in the back, then made your trek through the life-or-death dodgeball game that was _people not looking where the fuck they’re going._

Once inside with all of your limbs attached, you repeated your deep-breath mantra with a mask firmly locked on the _normal person not having a panic attack_ setting. 

You achieved a high score—making it down a whole _five_ aisles before having to pause and look at your phone for some anxiety distraction. 

**Red** : _you can say ya hate me as much as ya want_

 **Red:** _but i know your love for me burns red-hot ;)_

Deadpanning at your phone, you found that your irritation—for the _briefest_ of moments—overtook your anxiety. Idea sparking—and desperate to make it out of here with some actual food in hand—you typed out an awful message.

 **You:** _Hey, can you tell me more puns please?_

You were pretty sure if you’d sent anyone else that, they’d take it as a sign you were either in mortal danger or bodysnatched by a clone with really bad tastes. 

To your surprise, your phone began to immediately vibrate in quick succession.

 **Red** : _id ask why_

 **Red:** _but thatd probably be *red*ding into it too much_

 **Red:** _u trying to get a bit more color in ur life?_

 **Red:** _cuz say the word n ill be havin u seein red ;)_

 **Red:** _n trust me_

 **Red:** _u wont d*red* it_

Texts of a similar (awful) caliber from Red began to litter your phone without any further prompting. The grimace on your face was almost painful at this point, but it allowed you to successfully navigate the labyrinth of aisles as you shoved your necessary supplies into your cart. Every time your anxiety began to creep up on you, a mere _glance_ at your phone was enough to sucker punch your stress beast back into the corner of your mind. 

Normally—on the days you actually _managed_ to do a full shopping trip—you’d be covered in a thin coat of anxious sweat ( _like, why, body? Are you trying to make me too slippery for the store demon to catch me?)._ Now, however, you were _almost_ smiling as you successfully stashed your loot into the back of your car.

Once back in the driver’s seat, you took a moment to text Red back—who, good _lord,_ was still texting you puns. You had totally lost the thread of what he was talking about, and decided to ignore the most recent one in favor of stopping the madness.

 **Red:** _n ull wake up with *red*head_

 **You:** _Alright, alright_

 **You:** _Thank you_ 💖

Tossing your phone down onto the seat, Motherfucker ( _The Third_ ) roared back to life with a turn of your key. In celebration for a task well completed, you stopped for an iced coffee to treat yourself on the way back home. 

Once back inside the safety and comfort of your abode, you put away your things as quickly as possible—though noted there was no sign of your roommate having been around. You’d bought a few extra snacks, and sent him a message saying that he was free to have at them. He didn’t respond.

The living room was still holding on strong to those warm, sunny Sunday vibes by the time you finished sorting through your supplies. Figuring you wanted to soak up as much positivity as you could before the start of your weekday tomorrow (and, perhaps, catch a glimpse of your roommate), you grabbed your laptop and returned to your spot on the couch. You only had one life, and dammit, you were going to do as little as physically possible during it.

As your laptop booted up, you looked at your phone.

 **Red:** _anytime. whyd ya want em anyway, kitten?_

 **Red:** _cat got ur tongue?_

 **Red:** _or if not, could i get ur tongue instead? ;)_

Rolling your eyes at your phone, you typed back a quick reply.

 **You:** _No._

 **You:** _And I was using them to help distract me while I was at the store._

 **You:** _So thanks!_

Red’s reply was almost immediate.

 **Red:** _so does that mean ya like puns?_

 **You:** _No, I hate them._

 **You:** _But my irritation overpowered my anxiety_

 **Red:** _aw, cmon i used some of my best ones._

 **Red:** _was hopin to impress ya ;)_

As much as you tried to tug it back down, your body betrayed you as a grin rose to your face. _Nice try, buddy._

**You:** _I mean, it was honestly impressive, but in like a “man this guy can really eat a lot of beets” kinda way_

 **You:** _Like there’s no way I want to be part of it but the sheer amount is impressive_

 **Red:** _if youre impressed by the sheer size of things, i got an even better way to impress ya ;)_

 **You:** _Hard pass._

You saw the bubble that signaled he was typing pop up, and—having some sense of his thought process by now—quickly intervened.

 **You:** _No, no jokes about “hardness” or “making a pass” either._

The bubble immediately stopped—then came back for a brief moment before another text was sent through. 

**Red:** _:(_

Enjoying existing in purposelessness, you drifted your way through the rest of your Sunday with gentle ease. It was nice to just stop, and chill, and watch the colors on the wall fade from the high brights of day to the warm hues of sunset.

And… talking to Red in the meantime was pretty alright too. 

Flirting aside, he was actually a _lot_ of fun to talk to—your interests were similar enough that you had a lot to talk about, but not _quite_ so much that you couldn’t tease him about your (obviously superior) tastes. 

A little part of you wondered how much he was responding out of obligation, and how much out of interest… but he _seemed_ interested enough. He even suggested that you two play some video games tomorrow after you got out of work—which meant that he wasn’t doing it _just because,_ right?

By the time your grandma biology (as Red so sweetly called it) signaled that it was time for bed, the concern about Red’s willingness in this friendship had gathered enough notice to become the _start_ of a worry. That creeping anxiety dogged you as you walked up the stairs ( _past Sans’s room, who hadn’t come out all day)_ and to your bedroom.

Perhaps you’d pull an Undyne at somepoint and give him an out. But… not _just_ yet. 

As big of a pain in the ass as he was, you _were_ enjoying him as a friend. He could put up with your existence for a bit longer until you gave him a way to leave.

He _did_ owe you a favor after all, right?

Closing the curtain on your anxiety for the night, you laid back on your bed, the darkness of the room empty and seeming to wait for your unconsciousness. Although texting goodnight wasn’t your forté—your body tended to knock you out whenever it seemed appropriate—you decided it’d be best to let you know Grandma time had come.

 **You:** _Alright, I’m off to bed. It’s way past this old lady’s bedtime_

 **You:** _And no, before you ask, you cannot come with_

 **Red:** _:( i dont like that ya know what im gonna say before i do_

 **You:** _You’re too easy._

 **Red:** _only for you, kitten ;)_

 **You:** _Goddamnit._

Laying your phone on its sacred position on the nightstand by your head, you relaxed back into the mattress and closed your eyes. There was… a _small_ inclination to pick your phone back up and keep talking to Red, but the threat of an awful work day tomorrow stifled your hand’s impulse. Instead, you settled for merely thinking of Red, reflecting back upon your day.

In the darkness—with no witness to judge you for... _whatever_ you were feeling inside while talking to this stranger—you smiled.

_Hm. I hope he’s enjoying talking to me as much as I am him._

Okay, so… you weren’t the _most_ annoying person Red could’ve ended up indebted to.

At first, he’d kind of been hoping his humor would’ve scared you off—or _pissed_ you off—enough to make you want to call off the favor. That maybe hadn’t been the _wisest_ move (you could’ve technically asked for something else in lieu of the failed “friendship”), but Red’s impatience rarely led him to the best decisions.

But… instead, you had a nice little back-and-forth going. Still not as good as being left the hell alone, but… y’know. Amusing enough.

Plus, you really _did_ have a cute voice...

Red looked at his phone, sitting there in silent, innocent blackness. Practically _taunting_ him.

_i wonder how long she normally sleeps for? i guess i could go back and look at how long she was gone last night-_

He realized his hand was already reaching for his phone, and he _immediately_ put it back down, forcing his hands back to their rightful spot on his computer keyboard.

_fuckin’... stars, whatever. she’ll be back on whenever the fuck she gets back on, who gives a shit?_

His eyes looked at the computer screen—but, as much as he kept them forward, he realized he wasn’t actually _reading_ any of the figures on the screen. Like a magnet, his eyes kept drifting back to his phone-

And it lit up.

He instantly snatched at it, nearly dropping it as his clawed fingers curled around the device. He looked at it-

 **Al:** _did u finish yet??? ಠ_ಠ u were supposed 2 send me that report back hours ago_

Red growled at his phone, running a hand down his face irritably, resisting the urge to crunch the plastic piece of bullshit in his hands. _fuckin’ alphys._

 **Sans:** _m fuckin on it calm your scales_

He heard his phone buzz in reply—but had already tossed it on the bed behind him, well out of view. 

_alright. this should take ten fuckin minutes tops. just gotta focus._

He sent it in two hours later, and then took an _additional_ hour when Alphys sent it back for mistakes he’d made.

He blamed you— _fuckin’ weirdo asking to be friends_ —but couldn’t find it in him to feel the ire he wanted to as he looked at his phone, waiting for that screen to come back to life with notice of _you._

_damnit, kitten. i hope yer satisfied with how much of a pain in the ass yer bein’._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey yall! Once again I’m here to say _what the fuck yall_.  
>   
> Fjfjfjdjfjcj I’m really glad you guys seem to be liking this!!!! I don’t really have anything to say other than that so just... ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿ thank you!!!  
>   
> Oh, one thing: I’ve never tried it before, but would you guys be interested in having the text messages be formatted like [this?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6434845/chapters/14729722) I’d be willing to try it out if you guys think it’d make it easier to read! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ  
>   
> Thank you to everyone for your support, and especially those who take the time to comment! Y’all are fucking rockstars that fuel fiction! I hope you’re having a nice day, and I hope you guys like what’s to come!


	4. Make a Bet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You should _always_ be careful when making a bet.

For once, when your alarm came Monday morning, you didn’t feel particularly dead. No prying eyes open, no urges to smash your phone against the wall, no channeling the curses of a fat orange cat. If you had bad dreams, you’d slept through them, and their lingering darkness hadn’t clung to you as it normally would have.

So… week off to a pretty good start!

Hustling through your morning routine, you sent a variety of good morning texts to the few people you normally saluted—all of them definitely still asleep by this point. The only one you weren’t _sure_ would be asleep was Red—but he didn’t respond, so you figured he was out as well.

There was _still_ little evidence of your roommate’s presence. The only way you were certain the past two days had even happened—save for Undyne’s messages as the pending friend request on your discord—was the small bits of monster food in the fridge and cabinets. Just as you were heading out the door, you paused to send your roomie another message:

 **MomsSpaghetti:** _Hey, promise I won’t keep spamming you with messages._

 **MomsSpaghetti:** _Just wanted to let you know my schedule’s the standard M-F 8-4 biz._

 **MomsSpaghetti:** _I can have my phone at work though so if there’s any emergency feel free to message or call me through here._

 **MomsSpaghetti:** _Idk what your schedule is like, but if you’re home the tv in the living room has hooloo and all that, which you’re welcome to use_

 **MomsSpaghetti:** _(And no, there’s no favors involved. I’ll let you know upfront if I want a favor for something.)_

 **MomsSpaghetti:** _...And I think that’s it. Have a good one!_

Though you knew your phrasing was likely a _bit_ stiff and awkward, you supposed that was (if nothing else) true to who you were as a person. Good enough.

You stepped out of the house—and noticed, oddly enough, there was a motorcycle parked outside. The houses around you were cozily sat with small (if any) yards and driveways around, so most of your neighbors had at least one car parked on the street—but you knew all of them by sight at this point.

Unable to resist the _ooh shiny!_ call of your inner monkey brain, you took a moment to peer closer at the red chrome, sparkling gently in the early morning light. Stepping closer—but not _too_ close, as you knew that was just asking for trouble—you noticed a tiny skull emblem sitting in the center of the handlebars.

You looked up at the house, eyes lifting to the window of Sans’s room, the blinds shut closed. 

_Is this his?_

Your driveway wasn’t particularly large, but if it _was_ his, he could definitely fit as well—and it was probably safer than having it parked on the street.

_Hmm… Maybe I’ll wait a bit before offering it to him; I messaged him a lot his morning. I doubt he’d take up the offer anyway._

Forcing your stare away, you settled into the body of Motherfucker ( _The Third_ ) and roused her gently awake. Unlike you, she complained and groaned at the Monday morning awakening—but all the same did her job of bringing you to work. 

When choosing ( _or, really, begging for_ ) an occupation in this day and age, you fortunately found one that both played to your strengths and didn’t require that bullshit degree you’d currently left on the backburner of your life: _call center employee extraordinaire._

It wasn’t the ideal employment; if you were being honest, talking on the phone typically made you anxious, even after a solid year of being on the job. What _did_ help, however, was your years of experience spent in sage training on online games. _No_ middle aged mom, no matter how irritable or irate, could compare to the hell that was voice chatting online while female. You were practically a _pro_ —utterly zen as you listened to various screaming voices, thoughtlessly murmuring apologies for the things that had nothing to do with you as you played games on your phone. 

It wasn’t great money, and it wasn’t necessarily easy money (despite what your high scores on _Snail Race Xtreme_ said)—but it made due while you were sorting your life out.

As per usual, you wiggled your greeting to Moldsmal, who wiggled (rather enthusiastically, you felt) back before going to your cubicle. You two were about the only ones who seemed to have any pep in their step this Monday—the rest of your small team faded in with the grim, toiling-employee expression of _I haven’t even started work yet and I need a drink._ Knowing you’d likely be joining them by the end of the day, you took a moment to shut your brain off before turning on your headset.

_Happy Monday, everyone._

Despite your unusual amount of energy, the morning seemed to _drag_ on; perhaps your chronic insomnia and fatigue helped numb your brain to the hours you spent listening to complaints. By lunchtime, you felt about ready to crawl out of your skin, pausing your queue the _moment_ the clock hit noon. As you pulled out your lunch (a turkey sandwich with mustard—compliments of your second grade cooking skill) and began to shove bites of it into your mouth, you grumpily pouted at your brain.

_I give you a good night sleep, and this is the thanks I get? We’re gonna have to take this disagreement outside, I think._

Outside you did take it—literally, deciding to take a walk with the rest of your break, trying to burn off some of that anxious energy. With little to no surprise, it didn’t help much—if anything, your heart’s increased pace was simply guiding your anxiety along in a dance beat—but it at least distracted you as you passed the time. Your work wasn’t too far from your home; it wasn’t a great area of the city, but at least had spots of greenery among the various stores and offices. Although you wouldn’t have called the walk _pleasant_ , you at least smiled as you walked past the bakery that started your friendship with Undyne.

_Ah, memories. Whatever you’re being anxious over, brain, please remember—even the biggest of dickbags or bad situations can lead to a new friend. Calm yourself._

Although your brain didn’t listen, you at least navigated the way back to work without fairing any worse than when you started. Dutifully, you restarted your queue as soon as your break was over—eager to get the day done.

About an hour or so later—just as soon as your 2 pm sleepies were kicking in—a notification hovered above the screen of your game, _just_ as you were about to catch a wandering Sqortle.

 **Red:** _mornin kitten_

A smile instantly sparked at your mouth, and you impatiently waited for the electronic figure to stop resisting capture ( _if you thought about it too much, the implications of this children’s game might worry you, so you opted not to)_. Once successfully under your possession, you tapped out of the game and into your messages.

 **You:** _Afternoon, I think you mean._

 **Red:** _tomato potato_

 **You:** _…Not the saying but close enough. You just wake up?_

 **Red:** _yeah. u still on for later?_

 **You:** _Totally. You ready to get your butt beat?_

 **Red:** _nah. but im *red*y to show u the meanin of gettin spanked_

 **You:** 😑 _No._

 **Red:** _??? u cant just say no. wasnt a question_

 **You:** _Just did bruh. Whatcha gonna do about it?_

 **Red:** _oh, trust me, i got a few ideas ;)_

You laughed aloud, shaking your head.

Unfortunately, you’d forgotten that you were currently on the line, listening to the trade of some middle aged man—who _immediately_ blew his lid. 

_Whoops._

The last two hours of your shift were spent mostly calming the dude down (you claimed you were clearing your throat), taking other calls, and texting Red (this time, taking greater care to hide any errant laughter). A part of you _had_ been considering going easy on Red tonight for the sake of his ego—but now that he’d inadvertently given you extra work, you might not be _quite_ so merciful. As the two exchanged playful, challenging barbs—steadily assuring each other that they would be the one victorious—you decided you’d not resist the victory, but not kick his ass _too_ badly.

But then—just at the end of your shift—this poor man who apparently _lived_ on smacktalk ended up sealing his own fate.

 **Red:** _do u have guitar star?_

Mid-packing up your stuff, the notification froze you. Flashes of the _hundreds_ of hours you’d spent clacking away on the colored buttons of that junky piece of plastic guitar flew before your eyes.

That… would be too mean, wouldn’t it? 

**You:** _Hm. I do, but didn’t you say you play guitar?_

 **You:** _That doesn’t seem like a fair fight._

There. An easy out. If he chose to grant _you_ mercy, he’d actually be saving himself. You threw the strap of your bag over your shoulder, peeking at your phone as it buzzed in your hand.

 **Red:** _alls fair in love n war kitten_

 **Red:** _but if ya think yer not up to it…_

 **Red:** 🐥🐣🐓🐔🐤

Well, _now_ , not only had he drug his grave—he’d built his own coffin, jumped in, and nailed the lid from the inside. 

Now all that was left for you to push the dirt over this dear, sweet fool.

 **You:** _You’re on, big boy._

The drive back home was peaceful, if not a bit more upbeat than normal—even Motherfucker _(The Third)_ seemed to be complaining less on the trip. This _could_ have been due to your excited mood coloring your vision, or (more likely), you not hearing her complaints as you blared music and unabashedly sang and danced along, windows down and going at full tilt. Between you and MF( _III_ ), you were probably causing such an ungodly racket that even the most deafened of dead would hear you as you drove past the cemetery by your house, but you couldn’t help it. The early evening sky was bright, your clinging anxiety had finally let go, and you just… felt _good_. 

Best to indulge in happiness to the fullest while you could. 

When you pulled into your driveway, you noticed you had two more notifications: one from Red ( _some dumb comment about you being right about the “big boy” part_ ) and another (much less eyeroll-inducing) message notification from Disharmony.

You turned off the message previews for that app long ago after getting one too many messages from friends with names like “Biggus Thiccus” and “Walooigi, Destroyer of Assholes.”

Safe from prying eyes while in your driveway, you opened the message. To your surprise, it was Sans.

 **AntiPasta:** _thanks_

You stared at the screen, your car’s idling engine a roaring accompaniment to your humming thoughts.

_Hm. Not much of a response there—but I guess it’s better than nothing or something negative. I’ll take it!_

**MomsSpaghetti:** _Anytime!_

_There. Friendly enough in return, hopefully._

Response complete, you shut off your car, giving it a loving pat for a day’s work well done. With a creak and a groan, you slipped your way out of the metal beast and made your way into the house. 

Time to shower, get a bite to eat, and then absolutely _wreck_ Red’s day.

Sans wasn’t quite sure what to make of his new roommate yet, but he didn’t exactly dwell on it much.

A bit of suspicion as to why the human was being so accommodating slunk close behind him as he made his way out of his room and downstairs. Now early afternoon, he was already certain she was gone (that fucking _atrocious_ wreck of a car had briefly woken him up when that morning), but he still felt a deep unease walking into the foreign space. It was far too soon to have really figured out her deal (something Sans wouldn’t likely bother with anyway—hopefully he wouldn’t be here for _too_ long), but he at least had it in writing that she wasn’t asking for a favor in advance.

Odd, but not worth spending time worrying about it. If she was trying to get one over on him, well…

She wouldn’t be the first human to try to back him into a corner. He’d figure it out.

He hadn’t slept well last night, so he shifted his focus elsewhere; his mind felt too clouded and jarred to hang onto pointless thoughts for long. Plopping himself down onto the couch, he heaved a heavy sigh, flicking on the TV. Distantly, he observed that she seemed to watch a lot of cartoons—a mildly interesting fact unwillingly placed and sorted in the filing cabinet in his skull. He picked one at random, not caring too much what was on—just wanting something to cut the silence.

He had seen the text from you the moment he’d woken up, but refused to let himself respond right away. He wasn’t sure exactly _why_ he refused to, but… the notification was like a drain, pulling the floor of his focus to it every time he stopped resisting. Maybe he just did it to prove to himself that he _could._

But of course he could! You were just… some stranger.

Now that he had gotten himself successfully up and out of his room, he allowed himself to indulge in the urge to message you back. He figured that (unlike him) you probably had a normal schedule (if your bedtime was anything to judge by, anyway). Because of this, he dropped his phone as soon as he sent the text, figuring you would respond whenever you were done with whatever the hell people with a normal schedule did—but, to his secret delight, his phone near-immediately buzzed back in response.

And it continued that way onward. Similar to yesterday, your conversation was a mix of that teasing back-and-forth and discussion of the various things you liked or didn’t like. The conversation came easy, unforced—when there was a natural lull, sometimes you’d fill it in, prompting him with another question.

To his surprise, sometimes so would he. 

The next two hours slipped by without a blink. He had wanted to get some work done before gaming with you that evening—but, before he knew it, the screeching of his roommate’s awful car signaled that it was _already_ almost time to game with you. How the fuck had that happened?

Figuring it was just the haze of exhaustion, he quickly forced himself up, turning off the TV. He quickly ported into the kitchen and—sure enough—through the tiny window above the sink he could see his roommate was pulling into the driveway, and… wait, was she _dancing and singing in her car?_

He let out an amused snort, taking a second to watch before turning away. He quickly grabbed some snacks he stashed in the cupboard— _maybe i should just keep this shit in my room so i don’t have ta come down here again_ —before porting back up to his bedroom.

His blinds were closed—but he took a peek out the gap, mildly curious. Sure enough, his roommate was getting out of her car, looking rather happy-go-lucky as she walked up to the house and out of sight of his limited view.

_who the fuck looks so happy coming home from work? something’s off with that one. maybe she’s a drug dealer or somethin’... with an 8-4 schedule. yeah, totally._

Turning back from the window, he dropped all thoughts of odd roommates and ported back upstairs, unceremoniously dumping the food on his bed. He then turned to the massive stack of boxes he’d ported in yesterday—and, with a slight grumble, went through the task of digging through their contents. There wasn’t much that was salvageable after the fire—Undyne owed him a _ton_ of new shit—but the stuff that’d been packed away in the basement ( _aka, the shit they didn’t even use)_ was saved—including the fake, plasticy guitar controller. 

Of course, it was nothing like a _real_ guitar—but he’d played the game a decent amount, and if _you_ didn’t play music, it’d give him an edge.

Since he couldn’t play for you in person, it’d be a nice way to impres-

It’d be a nice way for him to fire back at that sassy ‘tude you abruptly got when talking about video games. 

_yeah. heh. there’s probably even a joke about masterful fingerwork i can_ ** _insert_** **_in_** _there somewhere, heheheh..._

Oh, you’d _hate_ that one. He was definitely using it.

As his digits ghosted over the bright buttons of the controller, his mind tried to come up with an idea of what you looked like, wanting to see the indignant reaction from his jokes. His mind’s eye—not exactly the _most_ creative to begin with—refused to come up with any particular image, a mere dark specter hovering _just_ out of sight. He at least had the memory of your voice—drunk, and half awake, but still there. He’d heard what you sounded like when confused, and sassy, and—for that brief moment—flustered…

He wished he’d gotten you to laugh. 

He took a deep breath, the feel of the plastic beneath his digits bringing him back to the present as he attempted to shake the thought off. Time to focus on getting a few rounds in, make sure he was primed to show you what he could do…

Digging the old, forgotten console out of the bin, a thought struck him—and then he grinned.

_huh. maybe i can get more out of this than just showin’ ya a good time, heheh…_

It wasn’t too much longer—maybe an hour or so—that you texted Red saying you were finally ready. He’d already got everything set up and ground away the rust with a few playthroughs of some of the harder songs. He texted back, offering you some time to do a practice run of your own. No one could say Red had much for honor, but—without much thought behind it—he chose not to be a _complete_ ass to you. 

You declined the opportunity, though, saying you were ready for him. His grin turned shark like.

_well, can’t say i didn’t try ta offer ya some mercy, kitten. guess it’ll leave ya with an excuse when ya lose, anyway._

Red plopped down into his gaming chair lazily, balancing the guitar on his lap as he typed at the screen, a smirk plastered on his face. 

**Red:** _eager to get the spankin over with, huh?_

 **You:** _You know it!_

 **You:** _Can’t say I’m normally on the giving end of those, but I’ll gladly change it up to whoop your ass_ 💖 

Red sat up fast enough to knock the guitar off of his lap, but he let it fall to the floor, practically unnoticed as a myriad of images flashed before his eyes.

_ooooh, kitten, ya ain’t just slippin’ that in and gettin’ away with it._

**Red:** _is that so?_

 **Kitten:** _Actually beat me and maybe you’ll find out._

Red couldn’t help the surprised laugh, grin curling as he typed at his phone. _oh, kitten, now yer just walkin’ right into my plan._

 **Red:** _actually, that doesn’t sound like a bad idea_

 **Kitten:** _?_

 **Red:** _let’s make a bet on it_

 **Red:** _winner gets a favor_

There was a noticeable pause before his phone buzzed again.

 **Kitten:** _You didn’t seem to like owing favors, though. I’d feel badly._

Red had expected some more sasstalk, or maybe a refusal—but for some reason he felt your concern was sincere, rather than joking. Trying to brush aside the odd, too-difficulty-packed sensation within his soul, he decided to reply jokingly, in case he was just misinterpreting it.

 **Red:** _not a problem, cuz you wont be winning ;)_

This time your reply was immediate.

 **Kitten:** _Oh, sir, you have no idea how wrong you are._

Red could _feel_ the sparks within his sockets brighten. 

_sir, huh? yer playin’ with fire, kitten._

Another buzz distracted him. 

**Kitten:** _Tell you what. Winner gets two favors, loser gets one. That way you won’t feel so bad when you lose._

Red huffed a laugh, grin back in full as he leaned down and picked his guitar controller up from the floor. 

**Red:** _youre on_

After fiddling with getting set up online and going through the droll of setting up an invite code, he watched as your icon popped up, connected.

There was a certain kind of… oddness in that moment. Of course he’d talked to you on the phone before, and the two of you had texted near-constantly the past few days…

But as he watched you select your character—scrolling through the various over-the-top dressed rockers—something about seeing your movements _live_ made you feel… real. Connected. Once you’d picked, it was his turn—and Red realized he felt a tinge of incalculable self-consciousness as he realized _you_ were watching _his_ live moments in return. He selected only the second or the third one, anxious energy hitting the select button to just get it over with.

You allowed him to pick the first song—a rookie mistake—and then, finally, the duel began.

When you’ve lived an uncountable number of lives over, there are certain things you come to expect, the kinds of things that no one would ever otherwise notice: the predictable pattern of snowfall (depending on the wind and the temperature), the way that the world likes to waver between being comically ironic and utterly chaotic, the way that something _always_ seems to go on sale just after you bought it from the shop…

More importantly—more essential to survival—you figure out _people_. Each person carries their own bundle of what _truly_ matters blanketed within—but most are poor at concealing the shape of what that is, and you learn that, with enough prodding, you can _always_ figure out what’s underneath. You learn the difference between charm and care—the difference between those who see others as _things_ , and those who see others as people. You learn to overestimate a challenge, underestimate how much you can count on someone.

But maybe… maybe this run had softened him around his sharper edges. It’d gone so much longer than the others, maybe Red had to learn what it meant to not forget-

Because, without a doubt, he had underestimated _you_. 

You kicked the everloving shit out of his coccyx with that game. It… was practically _brutal_ , merciless. He’d come out of the gate not even really trying—he’d even _chuckled_ when you put it on hard mode, thinking you were trying to act tough…

But within the first three seconds, he _knew_ he was boned. 

The two of you had chosen a best out of five match—but it was pointless. _DEFEAT, DEFEAT, DEFEAT..._

As he stared at that third and final _DEFEAT_ screen, he felt his soul sink, dropping into a bath of mishmashed emotions. 

His first thought, instant, and annoyed, and… somewhat disappointed?:

_she played me._

And then, a second thought responded to the first:

_well... did she though?_

You… had given him multiple outs. To switch the game, to not make a bet, to give the loser a prize for winning…

 _maybe_. _guess i’ll wait to see what kitten does with the favors, i guess. she ain’t drunk this time—if the friendship shtick was a drunken mistake, guess i’ll find out right now._

He dropped the guitar unceremoniously, picking up his phone with a frown.

_alright, kitten. show me who ya really are._

**Kitten:** _:)_

 **Red:** _yea yea_

 **Red:** _was goin easy on ya of course_

 **Kitten:** _Suuuure, pal._

 **Kitten:** _Now:_

 **Kitten:** _As queen of guitar star, I decree you must pick your favor first. It can be anything you want._

Of _course_ you’d want him to go first. A well-calculated move: you could cancel his favor and still have a favor to work with. Smart.

His frown deepened, but he forced himself to look at the next message as it appeared:

 **Kitten:** _Well, within reason of course. I don’t have any millions to give you._

 **Kitten:** _But if you wanted me to like, teach you my superior guitar star skills, or send you a meme, or if you wanted to undo a favor, or have me kick your ass in another game, feel free._

_wait. what..?_

The sentiment struck him right down deep through his bones, slipping straight through to his soul. Though you were burying the option among the others, Red… knew you clearly were giving him an out.

He could stop this whole thing right now. He... could be rid of you entirely, and not have to worry about this whole arrangement or _you_ ever again...

His soul clenched uncomfortably in the center of his chest.

_shit, kitten…_

His sockets closed for a moment. In the darkness and silence of his room—the sole sign of life the tv screen, playing the little jaunty tune of the selection screen, where your icon hovered—and took a breath.

Despite his underestimation of your skills—and the pieces of you that still felt too distant to see in his mind—he felt he still had a good grasp of certain parts of you. Which was (with a limited amount of certainty) exactly how he knew what to ask for:

 **Red:** _alright._

 **Red:** _i want ya to call me._

 **Kitten:** _NO pdsdfosdkf_

 **Kitten:** _Aaaand I’m using my first favor to change that favor_

Glow hovering on his face from his phone, his grin widened.

_exactly as planned. though... guess i expected ya to cancel, not allow me ta change it to something’ else. that might be a mistake, but..._

_it feels like yer just bein’ sweet._

Amusement wrapped itself around him, warm and soft. He typed at his phone, unable to resist the urge to tease you.

 **Red:** _my voice really that “dangerous,” huh? ;)_

 **Kitten:** _...Yeah, kinda_

He nearly dropped his phone, jolting at the message. Oh, _man_ , he wanted to push that…

But for a reason unknown to him, he didn’t.

 **Red:** _alright, alright. no call yet._

His fingers momentarily clacked against the side of his phone—before he remembered the sole reason for this whole stupid bet. 

**Red:** _how’s about ya laugh for me?_

 **Kitten:** _Laugh?_

 **Red:** _yeah. i wanna hear it_

You sent him a gif—some human popstar giving a lame look at the camera—and Red laughed aloud.

 **Kitten:** _Are you serious rn?_

 **Kitten:** _It’s not gonna sound right if it’s on command._

 **Red:** _ya can just look at one of my hilarious jokes ive sent ya ;)_

 **Kitten:** _When you actually send me one I will._

 **Red:** _damn. ya wound me right thru the soul, kitten_

In contrast to the message, he was smiling wide. A hazy ghost of a smirk on an otherwise invisible face lingered as he imagined your expression in his mind. Another buzz.

 **Kitten:** _I mean… your fake flirting is pretty funny_

 **Red:** _there ain’t nothing fake about that kitten, trust me_

 **Kitten:** _Uh huh._

You didn’t reply after that. Red waited an eternal minute—for an unknown reason, his soul felt tight, but… not exactly in a bad way? But just as anticipation was spilling over into nervousness—his thumbs beginning to tap out some form of backpedal—a voice memo from you popped up.

His fingers instantly pounced on the play button. 

There was a breathy noise, something between a huff and a snort, and then a full-on laugh. Not a cute little giggle or gentle chuckle like he’d been envisioning—but a gut laugh, loud and true and lively.

_fuck._

He sat down hard, hand going over his face. 

Why… did he just do that to himself? 

It had seemed like such a good idea at the time, but now—even just a moment after he’d heard it—he knew that laugh would haunt him. 

**Kitten:** _For your information, that laugh was from a cat video._

 **Kitten:** _Now, for my second favor:_

Red was… _reasonably_ certain it wouldn’t be anything bad—but, now reminded that it was important not to underestimate you, it was just as important to not overestimate your kindness.

He stared as the three dot bubble wiggled tauntingly at him, its dance like a threatening message from a Moldsmal. Sweat prickled on his skull.

Finally, the message came:

 **Kitten:** _Next time you’re having a bad time and want to talk to someone, talk to me._

Red closed his sockets again and leaned back into his chair, relief surging through his bones, chest practically _creaking_ as he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

_‘course, this doesn’t mean anything fer sure, but…_

He really wanted this to be who you were.

  
 **Red:** _alright, kitten._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!! Hey all! ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿ 
> 
> I'm sorry it's been a hot minute; February was a busy month for me! I made this chapter extra long as recompense. I also realized I never responded to comments on the last chapter, so I'll be responding to these tomorrow!
> 
> Thank you all so much for your support, and for really seeming to like this story! ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡


End file.
